Bound
by seilleanmor
Summary: AU. We are all bound to one another, through love, through blood, through tough experiences. How far can we push those boundaries?
1. Cora

We are all bound to one another, through love, through blood, through tough experiences. How far can we push those boundaries?

Castle is not mine; I just fell in love with the characters. I trust in Andrew Marlowe and all the other brilliant writers.

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><p><strong>bound<strong> _~adj_

(_verb._) to move forward quickly with leaps and jumps: (**'****Louis came bounding down the stairs.'**)

(_adj._) tied; in bonds: (**'her wrists were bound together.'**)

(_verb._) made fast is if by a bond: (**'she is bound to her family.'**)

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><p>"We are bound by our choices, but we are more than our mistakes."<p>

**-Kate Beckett (_Knockout_)**

**Cora**

He's leering at her. He's leering at her, and it makes her skin crawl. She can feel his lecherous gaze travelling the length of her body and she wants to scream at him.

She's never felt good abut her figure. Food isn't her friend and she lives on tea and salad, mainly. She likes being in control of what enters her body.

Her ribs show and she hates it, looks like a child but it's better than being full. But he's not looking at her ribs or her skinny excuse for an ass. No, he's staring at her chest.

Guys have looked at her before. She doesn't like it really, but it doesn't bother her. But this makes her feel so unclean she almost gags. She can feel her stomach wrapping round her spine and she sucks in a shaky breath.

Her hands are tied behind her back, around the back of the chair. Her shoulders stretching, burning to accommodate the unnatural position. The chair is wooden, he probably got it from his kitchen. She isn't sure, but it's cold and she thinks she's in his attic.

She's always been ready for this. Her father's famous, her mother has put countless people in jail and the combination of the two makes her a target.

She's not naïve. She's never said 'it won't happen to me'. She thought she was ready.

She's trying to picture her parent's faces, what they'd tell her to do but there's too much blackness and their faces are cloudy and that hurts so she stops.

She knows not to fight this man, the one that has her. Them. She knows not to aggravate him. Playing along means staying alive and she can do that. She has to. If she can do that long enough, maybe he'll get bored and let her go.

The second she realised what was going on, she made a pact to herself that she would remain stoic in the face of their captor.

She can't fall apart. If she shows any weakness they'll latch onto it and exploit it and she has visions of herself bending over like grass in a fierce wind, succumbing to powers greater than she can fight. If she does they'll rip her to shreds and then Avery will be alone in the dark and so afraid. She has to be strong for her baby sister.

She doesn't know who this man is. His features are ordinary. She could have walked past him a dozen times and not noticed. Medium brown hair, brown eyes, average height and build.

She always wanted to be able to look into the face of the man who killed her and know who he was, why _her_. And she's not going to be able to. And she shouldn't be focusing on that part but she can't help it.

She has enough courage to speak now. Her voice is hushed. The sounds of this language are all in her throat so she can keep them quiet. She can keep their captor's attention away.

She whispers in the Russian her mother has been teaching both of them since they were small.

"Eto vse khorosho. Avie, eto vse khorosho." _It's all okay_. "Ya tebya lyublyu." _I love you_.

Her sister whimpers, a strung out sound like a wounded animal and it breaks her heart.

Their captor mumbles something. Growls it really. She doesn't hear, really doesn't care. He shakes his head and leaves the room.

She can breathe a little deeper, but her lungs are still burning from lack of oxygen.

She can't take Avery's hand. Her sister's are bound behind her back, her ankles tied as well. Avie doesn't get the comfort of a chair; she's curled in a foetal position on the floor. She needs to take Avery's hand, squeeze the tiny fingers tightly. As much to try and instil some courage in herself as a reassurance. She feels like she's scraping at the very bottom of herself, trying to see a way out of this.

She doesn't have their father's gift to spin a story. Only their mother's passion for words.

"Cora. I'm scared. I'm so scared." Avery's voice is so young, but it's getting older with each passing minute. This is the kind of thing that scars children for life. She knows it, and she won't let it happen to her sister. Not Avie.

"I know. Me too. But Mommy and Daddy will get us out of here, okay? They're going to find us."

She doesn't believe it. She's fifteen years old. She knows how these things end and it's rarely good.

The room is lit by a single naked bulb, clinging to the ceiling with its last vestiges of strength. She strains her neck to look over her shoulder. They're facing away from what she can now see is a trapdoor in the floor. Definitely an attic then. Shit.

Avie curls up against her leg. Cora's seen her do this countless times with their mother. Whenever Avie gets scared, she seeks their mother out and clings to her until she feels strong again.

She wants to move one hand under her sister, pull her to sit in her lap so she can rock her gently. She wants to bury her nose in Avery's hair, inhale the scent of innocence that rolls off her sister in waves and pray that Avie can't smell her own anxiety. When animals smell panic, they panic themselves. And she needs to keep Avie calm.

Her heart sticks in her throat, her skin clammy. She has to be a mother to her sister until they get out of here. But she doesn't know how to do that without touching her.

She doesn't know what her mother would do in this situation. Well, she does. Her mother would whisper to Avery. Words that even Cora herself doesn't understand.

Her mother shares a special language with her youngest daughter. The unplanned baby that she almost lost, and then almost died giving birth to.

Cora was ten years old when Avery was born. She still remembers the too sharp scent of bleach that assaulted her nostrils. Still sometimes wakes in the night feeling the phantom ache in her fingers where her father held her hand too tightly.

They'd both had to wait in the corridor for her mother to come back to them, and Cora had watched her father fall apart.

So as her mother had formed such a strong bond with Avery, her father had created an unyielding link to Cora. She'd been there while his world fell apart and ever since then, they'd been closer than a normal father/daughter bond.

She strokes her hand over her sister's chestnut hair, tugs gently on one of the ringlets. Continues to make a hushing noise she's only half conscious of.

She shuts her eyes, allows herself to recall exactly how she got here.

* * *

><p>Cora wanders into the kitchen, sleep still calling her. She pushes the button on the kettle to start it boiling. The fridge obscures her from view, so her parents don't notice her as they walk into the kitchen.<p>

"I really don't know what to do. She just won't talk to me." Her mother looks broken and she would feel bad, but she can't bring herself to.

Her father pushes her mother against the kitchen island, framing her legs with his own and leaning down slightly to press a kiss to the pulse point below her ear. "Kate, she's fine. She's a teenager. It's what they do. She's just trying to find who she is."

Her mother turns her head, trying to avoid her father's ministrations. "I know that, Rick. But I just. I can't help but think 'what if something happens to me?' you know? I lost my mom and it broke me and I don't want to waste a second of the time I have with her."

Cora has never been more grateful for the open plan design of their home. She's looped round, and re-entered the kitchen the same way her parents did.

"Morning Daddy, Mom." Her father grins at her, and her mother tries for a smile. Cora wonders if she'd notice the hurt in her mother's eyes, had she not just heard her feelings voiced.

"Morning Pea. You want coffee?" Cora swallows hard, hoping her father won't notice the already boiled kettle, but he doesn't seem to.

"No thanks Dad. I'm gonna have some peppermint tea I think." Her father nods and gets her a mug and a tea bag.

Her mother mumbles something about waking Avie and leaves the room, and her father turns to her. His eyes are a shade darker than usual and she takes a step back.

"Cora? Could you please try to reach out to your mother a little bit, for me? She loves you, you know. And she wants to be close to you." The unspoken words hang in the air-

like she is with Avery.

Cora sighs. "I know Dad. I just don't know what to talk to her about. She won't talk to me about work, she doesn't seem to care about school and I don't know what else there is. I love her too. I just. I don't feel like she likes me very much."

Her father moves to wrap her in his arms. She's clouded by his familiarly comforting scent and she allows herself a moment of childishness before she straightens her spine. "Of course she likes you, Pea. She just doesn't think that you like her."

Cora won't speak. Won't lie. Because sometimes she's not sure that she does like her mother. And it wakes her in the middle of the night to taunt her until she's forced to muffle her sobs with a pillow.

She respects her. Her mother is Captain of Homicide at the 12th. She's proud of her. But she's also intimidated. She's shy around her own mother.

And it breaks her heart.

Her father gave her a poignantly beautiful gift for her fifteenth birthday. He gave her her parent's story, all written out and bound. Starting from way back when her mother first questioned him about a case.

He documented how hard he fought for her mother's love. How reluctantly she gave it. At first. And then how happy they were.

How Cora was an 'unexpectedly lovely surprise'. She's not an idiot. She knows she was an accident. Knows that they - her mother especially - never planned for her.

There'd been a dedication too.

_I want you to know how strong a love you were created from, and how deeply we both love you. Love, Dad._

And

_The past is important, Cora. It's important that we learn from it. Love, Mom._

She can't remember how many times she's read that book.

Cora walks Avery to school. Their mother doesn't know. She thinks they take the car service. In reality, Cora waves it off. She doesn't want to arrive at school in a car service like some celebrity, would rather walk. So every day Cora holds Avery's hands and the two of them wind their way through the streets of New York City.

They go to the same school Alexis went to, Marlowe Prep. It's the one acquiescence their mother made to their father's wealth. The only time Cora can ever remember him fighting back.

Her mother yells at him all the time but he takes it stoically because he loves her and he knows she doesn't mean it. But he'd told her that he would not compromise their daughter's education because Kate doesn't like his money.

She'd been five, and it had hurt. When you're five, and your parents fight, it feels like your world is ending. Like the thing that you hold sacred as the _most_ stable is shifting and you cannot survive it.

But her parents were strong in their love and they refused to be beaten.

Cora doesn't like school. She doesn't hate it either. She doesn't know how she feels. Actually, that phrase applies to most of her life.

She likes school because she likes structure, likes to know exactly what's going to be happening and when. She loves learning, craves the empowered feeling it gives her.

But she's the girl that sits at the back of the class quietly, not talking to anyone. She doesn't get teased, she has friends. People she can pair up with. But she doesn't share with them.

When she does well in a test, which she always does, she doesn't get the buzz that sings in her veins that she thinks you're supposed to. She has no one to share it with, no one at school to congratulate her.

Alexis tried to teach her, once. Cora had called her in tears, begging her big sister to teach her how to make friends. Alexis had tried. She just didn't know how to teach an introvert how to harness the confidence that came so naturally to her.

So Cora had stopped trying. She just went through school, soaking everything up. Learning in class, not just the curriculum, but about people. She watched everyone, all the time. Always looking at how people mesh together, how they fit with each other. How sometimes they don't.

The bell rings and Cora waits outside the appropriate gate for the kindergarten class to get out.

She doesn't fit in here. Everyone here is a nanny, foreign and lost looking, or a parent. The mothers who wrap themselves in the latest fashions and wait for their perfect child. Or the parents who will continue to work for another six hours from home. They're always on the phone.

Their mother is constantly busy at the precinct; although her father assures her she should count her blessings. 'Cora,' he says, 'your mother as a detective was never here, and even when she was she was always waiting with baited breath for the next body to drop.'

Cora knows that their father would come for them. But she likes their walk. Likes the feel of Avery clinging to her hand, and how special she feels as the little girl tells her all about her day.

For the half hour it takes them to get home, she is Avery's whole world.

She understands why her mother prefers her youngest daughter. Avery looks like a cherub. Round face with enormous green eyes and chestnut curls that cascade down her back.

She's five years old, and when you talk to her she looks in your eyes and she makes you feel important. She gives love so freely, easily. Cora could so easily resent her sister, but instead she loves her more than anything.

The walk itself is lovely. In autumn, the trees are dropping leaves the colour of sunset all around, to bathe the harsh concrete and soften it. Make it something appealing.

Avery described it as looking as if 'the leaves captured the sun' and Cora knew that her sister has the same talent for words as their father.

In summer, everyone seems to be free and happy. Even though it's often blisteringly hot, it seems to give the city buoyancy. No one rushes quite as much when the sun is blessing them.

Spring is Cora's favourite season. She loves looking for all the little signs of life that everyone else misses, all the things that show the resilience of nature. She loves the smell in the air, how the weather swings from soft sunshine to equally pleasant rain. Spring gives her hope.

Winter is Avie's favourite. She loves snow. Loves it. Cora sees a lot of other children trudging home with tears on their cheeks because they're too cold, but Avery doesn't seem to care. Or notice. Cora can see the beauty in it. How it blankets everything, makes it all look the same.

She and Avery spend a lot of time outside during January. Their father usually takes them to the park to build snowmen and make snow angels and run around.

Avie's given up asking why their mother doesn't come.

They're walking past one of the side alleyways that Cora doesn't like to look down. It makes her think of her father's books and her mother's job and her grandmother. Good things don't happen in dark places, it's a general rule of literature. Cora respects symbolism. And alleyways aren't good.

A small puppy runs from the shadows and sits in the middle of the dirty floor. Avery fights her sister's hand off and runs towards it.

She loves animals, can't resist. Cora follows her.

Strong arms wrap around her from behind and she's fighting, drawing on everything she knows. She tries to smack her head back, find his nose, but she misses the mark, too disoriented.

She feels like she's choking although he's nowhere near her neck.

She throws her body weight to the right, searching blindly for her sister.

She's being dragged backwards, her shoulders burning, heels scraping the floor. She can't remember what to do.

_Dad help me please_

Her brain is screaming in protest this is not happening not to her she won't let it. No she is safe loved cherished protected she will not be killed here.

She has too much left to do. She still has to figure out how _Mom I love you_

Avery screams once loud and shrill and she remembers how did she forget that

She opens her mouth to scream and a rag clamps down over it. She just has time to breathe in and know _chloroform_ before the blackness surges into her vision and her brain and she's fighting she is she won't let them lose her this way not in an alley

Please don't stab me

Please don't let them find me here

Please

I'm not done yet

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><p><strong>I'd love feedback, please.<strong>


	2. Brad

We are all bound to one another, through love, through blood, through tough experiences. How far can we push those boundaries?

Castle is not mine; I just fell in love with the characters. I trust in Andrew Marlowe and all the other brilliant writers.

* * *

><p>"To punish me."<p>

**- Richard Castle (_3XK_)**

**Brad**

It was easy. He almost wants to laugh, it was so easy. He'd grabbed the older one first. Just pinned her arms to her sides and managed to anticipate her attempt at breaking his nose. He had the chloroform rag stuffed in his pocket and it was simply a matter of getting it over her mouth.

She'd slumped in his arms, sagged against him and the younger one's screams had grown louder.

She hasn't run. He was worried about that but she's frozen to the spot, her gaze fixed on her sister. But she's screaming.

He presses the rag over her mouth too, checking over his shoulder as he lowers her to the floor. He doesn't want to let her fall. Wants to keep her pretty for later.

No one has come to investigate the source of the screaming. This is New York City and what people don't know won't hurt them.

The van is reversed into the alley; he made sure to choose one wide enough that he could fit it. The doors are already open. He lifts the younger one first, lays her on the mattress he put there.

Lifting the older one is just as easy. She weighs almost nothing. All bones and flesh stretched thin and arcs and hollow spaces.

He shuts the door, makes sure it's secure and climbs into the driver's seat. He doesn't care about the puppy he used to lure them. It can go and run free, its purpose served.

He pulls onto the main street. His hands are sweating, his heart racing. What if someone pulls him over, is suspicious.

What if what if what if round and round in his head making him dizzy.

He'll be fine. He has to be.

The journey takes forever; his whole being strains to reach his destination. But he makes it eventually. Not a warehouse, too cliché. His house. In the attic.

It's obvious. As soon as they work out it's him they'll come looking. But they have no idea it's him, not yet. They have no idea that he even has them yet. And when they do work out they're gone, they won't look for him. They'll look for people with money troubles, people with an obvious hatred of the Castles. People with an obvious motive. He's not an evident choice.

And by the time they work it out, it'll be done.

* * *

><p>He points at the younger one. He knows her name, of course.<p>

Knows where she lives. Her favourite colour. Favourite teacher. What grades she's getting. Which pair of shoes are her favourites and which chafe.

But pretending he hasn't picked them for a reason will help his defence. He doesn't need a stalking charge on top of the others.

He will get found out. That's his intention. He wants them to find him and lock him away.

But something in him, his law degree, won't let him add further charges to his list of misdemeanours.

The girl cowers from his finger, pushing herself further back against the chair. The older one tries to shield her with her legs.

The younger one, Avery, rubs her back, winces. Getting them up the ladder to the attic was a challenge, he'd taken them one at a time, slung them over his shoulder.

Tossed them up here. Then tied the elder to the waiting chair.

She must be bruised, hurting. He wants to smile at that but for now he has to remain menacing. Blood pumps faster when it's spiked with adrenaline and he can't wait to see it.

He slips the knife from his belt.

It's stunning. Long and polished and so sharp that it seems to cut the air. The particles surrounding it quiver in fear of its cold beauty. It's utterly breathtaking and he's growing a little impatient. A little tired of its cleanliness.

Cleanliness is next to Godliness, and there's a special place in hell reserved for people like him.

"You pick" he snarls, impressed by the venom in his own voice. "You or her." He flicks his wrist, pointing indirectly at Cora.

Avery blinks, stunned. He knows she understands. She's smart.

He watches her eyes as she makes the decision.

He's seen her eyes before. Always so happy. But now they're stormy and dark and so afraid and God, he _loves_ it.

"Me" she whispers and a menacing grin spreads across his face. Perfect. Cora throws herself over her sister as if to shield her, the chair clattering onto its side. That had to have hurt but she doesn't even flinch.

"No. please. I'm begging. I'll do anything. Do it to me not her please, _please_."

He laughs. "I asked her to choose. And she did."

"No." Cora doesn't scream. He didn't think she would. She's got a startling amount of control over her emotions. She just utters the single syllable with such menace that he's a little chilled. "You touch her, and I'll make sure they send you down for the rest of your miserable life."

He just smirks. She thinks that he's deluded enough to assume he can walk away from this. There's no chance of that. Her threats, to him, are promises.

He walks over to her, pulls the chair up so it's standing. Crouches down next to Avery and shoves her shirt up. Not too far, just enough to expose a strip of skin about three inches wide.

His hands, his fingers, leave grubby marks against the pristine white of the shirt, starch bending unwillingly against his touch.

He presses the point of the knife to her side. Watches her bite down on her lip. He presses down, not too hard not yet. Enough though.

Draws his arm back, pulling it back against his side and watching watching until there it is the blood so beautiful so right.

Hears Cora gag and delights in the sound. That's enough for Avery now.

He steps towards Cora. For her, he's going to work his way up. Her feet are bare; he made sure of that earlier. A vein sticks out in her foot and it's oh so tempting so good.

He presses the knife to it, slices quick and deep and long her whole foot red.

She keeps her foot pressed flat to the floor. That's no good. He wants to watch her arch in agony, hear the screams rip from her throat.

Later. He slices her other foot open too, matching. No more flip flops for you. That's enough for now. He needs to make this last.

He leaves them for now. He delights in the sobs of anguish that the younger is choking on, choking out, forcing the overpowering beast from her body just like him.

Downstairs, he can't hear them. He makes tea and sits at his desk. He has no documents detailing the plan. When the police search here they will find nothing to indicate any premeditation.

But there is a plan.

Get them. Hurt them. Visit Ian and hope they escape. Wait.

He doesn't know what he'll do if they don't get out while he's visiting his brother in the jail.

They have to get out and get home. They have to lead the police back here, where he'll be waiting. They have to.

He has to join him.

* * *

><p>He waits an hour before the need becomes too great and he goes back upstairs. It's faster this time. They're expecting it. He leaves the younger one for now. The older is his prerogative.<p>

He makes three slashes on each of her hamstrings. He enjoys the mirror image. How he can plot it so perfectly on her right side, test his theories, and then recreate it all on her left.

They aren't deep. He's disappointed, wants to watch her writhe. But he doesn't want her bleeding out so he stays calm and slices gently, watching tender flesh fall from his knife.

He thinks waiting an hour between each session will work nicely so he leaves her, them, for now.

Downstairs, he continues as he normally would. Cleaning his house a little. Watching some TV until it's time again.

He goes upstairs four times more, cuts her upper arms, the palms of her hands, her calves.

The last time, he inches her skirt up and finally she squirms because she thinks she knows what's coming.

Nervous eyes dance on the younger one but no, he won't go there.

He allows himself to go deeper at her thigh, to tear at her just a little. He knows where the main arteries are, how to avoid them.

He's brought them water but no food. He wants to screw with them. He can see the older one searching his face for reasons and he's doing everything he can to confuse her.

He leaves it at that, leaves her bleeding, leaves.

It's dark out, time for bed. Lying in his bed, he can hear the noises of them scrabbling around above his head.

It's comforting, hearing them. Hearing that everything's going to plan and someday soon he'll be back with Ian.

The two of them grew up in the foster care system, with only each other as a constant. Ian was a good guy. He is. He just got caught up in the wrong thing and had to kill to fight his way out.

And that bitch Detective Beckett was the one who put his brother away.

He can't do it without Ian, any of it. Can't function, can't survive. So his only choice is to get himself locked away too, in the same jail as his brother.

He sleeps more peacefully than he has since his brother got put away. It's happening, it's working.

Those two girls in his attic are his ticket to jail and he's so soothed by their presence.

He was going to leave it longer. He was. But he can't wait, he needs to see Ian. And he thinks by now, he's committed enough offences to be put away for a long time.

He takes a shower, allows the water to reach scalding temperatures and relishes in the feeling of it cascading over him. He shaves, combs his hair and dresses to impress. Jeans and a crisp, blue dress shirt.

Goes upstairs and gives his prisoners some water. Still no food. No more slicing either, he's finished with that now.

He hails a cab outside his house and instructs the driver to take him to the jail. He always receives an odd look when he asks to go there. He doesn't look like the kind of gentleman that would have acquaintances in jail.

All the tension leaves his shoulders the second his brother is in his sights. When Ian's here, he knows what's happening. Where he is, what he's doing.

When Ian's here, he's calm.

When Ian's here, he knows _why._

* * *

><p><em>Shannon, darling, that last line was for you. <em>

_Thoughts?_


	3. Kate

We are all bound to one another, through love, through blood, through tough experiences. How far can we push those boundaries?

Castle is not mine; I just fell in love with the characters. I trust in Andrew Marlowe and all the other brilliant writers.

* * *

><p>"Don't worry Castle, I'd get you out."<p>

**- Kate Beckett (_Anatomy of a Murder_)**

**Kate**

She loves her daughter. She does.

She just isn't sure what to do with her.

Cora reminds her of herself. The girl is very quiet. It's a peace that seems to stretch right to her soul. Kate can't tell whether she's home or not sometimes, can't feel her presence like she can with the rest of her family.

Cora's happy to drift by herself. Absorbing everything, learning everything. She's exceptionally bright. Kate's a little afraid of talking to her because she doesn't want to be made an idiot by her own daughter.

Sometimes Kate worries that Cora is sad. But the she sees her with her father, the peals of laughter that ring out and the beautiful smile and she knows. Cora isn't sad. She's just serious. Like Kate.

And Richard Castle knows how to brush the sincerity aside and find the laughter. Just like he does with Kate.

Her daughter has always been this way. A very serious child. She never wanted to play with the other children, quite content to sit by herself and lose herself completely in the intriguing world around her.

She's an old soul. Watches everything with her big, green eyes. And when she watches Kate, the woman feels laid bare right to her core.

Kate was a good mother. She gave her daughter all the love she could, but it was hard. Loving someone who doesn't appear to love you back, no matter the relationship between you, hurts.

She gave Cora everything she could. Fought her every day in silence to try and give the girl the love and security _she'd_ grown up with.

And then she'd had another baby. Avery was the happiest baby she'd ever known. Always smiling, craving human interaction and wanting attention all the time. Avery absorbed the love that people gave her, and gave it back tenfold.

Loving Avery is easier. She's the antithesis of the tough exterior that radiates from Cora. And so without meaning to, Kate started to allow Cora to close herself off.

Kate's sitting at her desk, mulling over this morning and how very screwed up she is. Over how she's ruined everything with Cora. The girl is always so awkward around her.

She's not getting an awful lot of work done today. But as Captain of the 12th, she doesn't have anyone breathing down her neck.

She feels sick. She isn't sure why. She would say that it's mother's intuition, but the very thought that something has happened to her girls sets her stomach rolling so she won't, can't, call it that.

Rick doesn't come to the precinct so much anymore. He likes to be at home when the girls get back from school, likes to fix them a snack and appease all the grievances their days give them.

He'd come if she needed him. He does come. When a case is tough, has her stumped. When a case is too personal, touches somewhere too raw inside her and she needs him to come and soothe the places where she is burning.

But she tries not to need him. She didn't before, and twenty years after they first met she still tries not to. Even as a mother, as a wife, she still has to prove to herself that she can stand alone.

She has to call. Has to check that the girls got home from school okay, are sitting at the kitchen island eating toast and telling Daddy all about school today.

She picks her phone out of the desk drawer right as it begins to ring. She smiles, despite the worry, at his photo on her caller ID. He took it himself, and it's the goofiest, stupidest, most beautiful picture she has of him. Because he took it while he was telling Avery a story, so he's pulling a stupid face meant to imitate one of the characters and love is shining out of his eyes and it still makes her stomach flutter.

"Hey babe, you okay?" She will be normal until he gives her reason not to be.

"No. the girls aren't home. They should have been home an hour ago." And just like that, her world drops.

She can't. Please God no not her girls. She's only just re-established a mother-daughter relationship, please don't destroy this too. "I'm coming home."

Legs already hit with a burst of adrenaline running shouts not quite reaching her ears just brushing past her. Her daughters need her, her girls.

Her babies.

* * *

><p>She falls through the door and he's there to catch her, drawing her into his arms and seeking the comfort he so seldom asks of her.<p>

She fights him off, needs room to talk and think and shout this out until they're back.

"What happened?" She demands and now she knows what motherly love really is because she is ready right now to run for miles and fight anything nature or man can throw at her to get them back.

He stands broken in front of her and it hurts, she needs him whole. "First of all, I called the boys. They said they'll start running down leads."

She turns, forehead against the cool wall. "It's not a homicide."

And then he's behind her, pressed against her spine, pushing her into the wall and giving her the pressure she needs to ground her sometimes. "I know. But I don't trust anyone else except them."

She nods, too exhausted already to fight him on that. "What happened?" Again, even more angry.

His voice is in her ear. "They never came home."

She whips around and he steps back. "The car service came back without them?"

He swallows, hard, another two steps back, looking anywhere but at her and she knows, already she knows.

"They don't take the car service."

She is going to throw up. Anger, hot and white, pulsing through her veins and she loves this man but she hates him too. "What do you mean they don't take the car service?"

He's shaking. It's ridiculous; she's never seen someone like this before. His whole body rocking violently. It's unnerving too. He's supposed to be solid, unmoving. She needs him to be that way. "Cory came to me and she begged me to let them walk. She said they both like it. She said-"

He catches his own words, holds them on his tongue but she needs them. "What is it, Castle? What did she say?"

It's funny how that's switched since they got married. Now, Rick is what she calls him, unless she's mad. It always used to be the other way around.

"She said that she feels loved, during their walk. She's Avery's whole world for that time, Kate. She said it makes her whole."

Kate slams her hand down onto the surface of their kitchen island, when did she walk over to it? It hurts but it's good, grounding, reality in a sea of nightmares. "Castle, how could you be so irresponsible?"

A tear rolls down his face. She allows herself to feel nothing. "Kate, if you'd seen her face. She's so solemn. But her face just lit up when she was talking about it. And it was just a walk, Kate. So easily given to her. Such happiness. How could I not?"

_Was _makes her gag, she chokes a little on that word before she allows the rest of his words to permeate her consciousness. She needs present tense, future. Her babies are okay, somewhere.

And she needs him. It's taken too much work to admit that, she's not going back now. She steps towards him, falters. Hooks her arm in his and pulls them both to the floor, backs against the kitchen island. "Okay. I understand. You'll do anything to make her happy. Me too, Rick. Me too."

He allows his head to fall to the side, rest against her shoulder. She turns hers, kissing his temple. "Are we sure they're missing and not just somewhere else they forgot to tell you about."

He sits up, shifts to face her. Takes her hands and she knows this is going to hurt. "Kate. Cora doesn't forget to tell me where she's going. She always has her phone on; she always tells me where she is."

"Did you call her?" He doesn't chide her for the stupid question, can see her desperation.

"Yeah, she didn't answer." Kate closes her eyes, waits a beat, opens them.

"Maybe she didn't have signal?"

He sighs and squeezes her hands harder. "If she knows she's going to be out of range, like in the library, she texts me first to let me know."

Kate swallows. Why doesn't she get these texts, this warning? When she gets her daughter back she has to fix this. "Maybe she just ignored it?"

He shuts his eyes. "She doesn't ignore my calls, Kate. Not ever. She's terrified that one day I'll be calling to tell her to come to the hospital, that something happened to you."

And oh, that hurts. More than she was expecting. He sees her flinch. "I know." He does. He does know. "When we get her back, we have to fix it Katie."

She shakes her head slowly, curls falling into her eyes. "Not we. Not you. You're perfect. Exactly what she needs. Just me."

She shuts her eyes again, rubs her hand over her face. "You're not a bad mother, Katie, you're not. You just need to love her even when she doesn't let you."

She chokes out a sob, her palm wet. "I don't know how. I need you to help me. Please."

She sounds broken, but he's seen her break before. Seen her insides exposed and aching and raw. Seen her blood on his hands. And he still puts her back together again, so gently she doesn't even notice until she's whole again.

"Of course. Kate, of course."

She can't move, doesn't know how. Her phone rings and she comes close to ignoring it but Rick fishes it from her pocket, checks the caller ID and presses the button to answer. He places it next to her ear.

"Beckett."

"Kate, its Kev."

She doesn't want the boys in on this, will not have homicide looking into the disappearance of her babies. But then Rick's right. They don't know who to trust. And something about this case has them all on first name terms.

"Tell me you have something please."

The detective coughs and she let's her head fall against Rick's chest. "Nothing so far. Javi's making a list of anyone that may have something against you."

She laughs, bitter and foul-tasting. "That's gonna be a long list."

Kevin doesn't laugh. "I'm sorry, Kate. I'm sorry it's not more. We're doing everything we can."

She wants to gag. "I know. I know you are. I'm coming back in."

She hadn't made the decision but her lips and tongue and teeth made it for her. Kevin doesn't even try to argue. "Okay. Bring Rick. You're gonna need his support, Kate."

She won't argue either, knows he's right. Hangs up and drops the phone onto the floor from numb fingertips.

Turns to her husband. "I'm going back in. Kev told me to bring you."

He nods, stands. Grabs keys and his phone and meets her at the door. They take her Crown Vic.

She wants to take the bike. Feel the wind ripping at her and bask in the power of staying in control. She wants to feel the engine roaring underneath her like an echo of her soul. She wants to get on the bike and she wants to go and find her children.

But she can't. So she tries her best not to scream as they become trapped in traffic and then they're blessedly free and in the elevator and thank God, no board.

She cannot see the faces of her children on a murder board.

Javier's sitting at his desk, phone against his ear and stacks of files already in front of him. Kevin gestures towards him and then turns to Rick and Kate. "We're looking into anyone you arrested that just got out and anyone whose relatives you've put away."

Kate nods but can't find words. Rick does. "The second you find something, however small, you tell us. Got it? Do not keep anything from us."

Kevin shakes his head. "No, course not. We'll keep you up to date."

The rest of the afternoon and late into that night is spent compiling a list of anyone who could have motive to kidnap their daughters. Tomorrow, they'll narrow it down to anyone with means and opportunity.

Rick buys everyone Chinese, and the boys eat it, but both Kate and her husband are too wired and too nauseous to even try.

He takes her home at eleven, insisting they're not going to get anywhere else today. She spends the whole journey fighting thoughts of her babies trapped and hurting and so scared and her arms ache with the need to hold them.

He takes her straight to bed, helping her undress and settling her beneath the covers before undressing himself and joining her.

She's shaking, but too exhausted to cry.

His arms around her are the only thing tethering her to reality. Were he not here, she would run. Try to run out of her own skin, leave all the pain behind and watch herself soar. But he doesn't let her do that anymore. He makes her stand up, be brave, face the heartache head on and then move on from it. Learn and grow and thrive and cherish the pain too, because it made her who she is.

His hands are dancing on her stomach. She remembers this so clearly, it's as if her very flesh knows this feeling. He spent the entirety of both pregnancies doing this. Touching the bump where their babies grew and loving them, his girls.

He kisses the notch of her top vertebrae. "We'll get them back, Katie. I promise you love. I am not going to give up. We'll get our babies back."

And the conviction in his voice, the absolute refusal to entertain any other notion, has her believing him. Trusting in him again because this is what they do. He convinces her and persuades her until she's strong enough to believe by herself.

This is how he persuaded her to marry him. To keep their baby. To love him, and Cora. Avery took no persuasion; she was good at it by then. She knew how.

She slides her fingers in between his. Her toes against his bare calf, wriggling in the hairs there. "I know. I know we will. I'm not giving up either."

He nods, his forehead nudging against her hair. All of a sudden, this horrific ordeal seems like something she can get through. As long as "Rick? Please don't let this break us."

He sucks in a pained breath and she hates herself for her doubt but she has to know. "I've seen so many families ripped apart by this sort of thing Rick. So many marriages collapse. Please don't leave me."

He kisses her spine again. It's one of his favourite spots. He told her once he likes the solidity of her skin stretched over the bone, finds it somehow reassuring. "I'm not going to leave you, Katie. Not ever. I can't get through this without you. Now, you need to sleep. Tomorrow, we're going to figure out who has our girls."

And she believes him, and she sleeps.

* * *

><p><em>This one really didn't want to be written and then all of a sudden it all poured out. It's had minimal editing because I really wanted to convey the panic Kate feels. And to all those of you that have questioned it, Ryan is the first name of our perp.<em>

_Thoughts?_


	4. Avery

We are all bound to one another, through love, through blood, through tough experiences. How far can we push those boundaries?

Castle is not mine; I just fell in love with the characters. I trust in Andrew Marlowe and all the other brilliant writers.

* * *

><p>"I'm so glad that you're okay."<p>

**- Kate Beckett (_3XK_)**

**Avery**

"Look at me" Cora says and something in her voice gives Avie the strength to open her eyes. "He's gone, I heard him leave. We have to get out of here Avie, now."

Avie swallows. Her throat is too dry she just wants a drink. "How?" Oh, her voice sounds like it does when she's just woken up. Tiger voice, Mommy calls it and growls at her.

She coughs a little, ouch but not too badly. "You have to untie my hands and then we'll work something out."

Avie thinks back to Daddy, tied to a chair one time. Avery, he said, the key is to find some slack. Or a tool to saw through it if you can.

Cora is still in her school uniform. They both are. "Cory, do you have anything in your pockets?"

Her sister closes her eyes to think and Avie stays quiet. Mommy does this all the time when she's talking to Daddy about work.

"I have a mirror. Avie, I have a mirror." She can't remember the last time Cory got this excited about something. "Okay, roll onto your knees for me."

Avie does, the dust digging into her bare knees. The floor is gritty but it doesn't matter anymore. The movement pulls at her side where the cut is and she can feel it bleeding again but this is more important.

"Okay, I'm going to try and lean down. I don't know how far I can push my shoulders so you're going to have to be quick, okay?" Avie can feel her eyes wide and scared. She nods, terrified.

She can see Cora's jaw tighten, knows her sister is gritting her teeth. Avie turns around. Her hands are behind her back so she has to face away. Cory leans forwards, letting out a soft moan. Her shoulders are straining against the ties at her wrists.

Avie feels for the pocket, blind. Finds it and grabs the mirror, careful not to drop it. Hears Cory's sigh of relief as she sits back. She shuffles herself back around to face her sister, the mirror tight in her grip.

Cory opens her eyes. "I need you to smash it."

"Cora! Mommy bought you this."

"AVERY" Cora snaps, and she jumps a little. "This could be our only chance to get out of here."

Avie nods. "What should I do?"

"Bring it next to my foot."

Avie struggles against the bindings, manages to put the mirror face down next to her sister's foot.

Cora lifts her knee as high as she can and slams her bare foot down onto the mirror. Avie hears it shatter, crawls over and fumbles around before her fingers find it. She lifts it up, feels for a fragment.

"Okay, you need to go round behind me so I can cut your hands free." Avie shuffles along the floor on her knees, trying her best to ignore the pain of the friction.

She faces away from her sister, passes the mirror to her. Cora pulls a piece of the glass free from the frame of the mirror. "Alright Avie, I'll be as careful as I can."

Cora's fingertips smooth the skin of Avery's wrist until they find the rope. She takes the shard of glass and begins to saw.

It takes a long time. Longer than Avery thought it would. But finally the rope falls away from her wrists. She rotates them. They're blissfully numb.

She tries not to look, but she can't help but see the deep gashes that struggling against the rope cost her. Her right wrist is especially bad, leaking clear fluid.

She turns around to face Cora's back, takes the glass from between her fingertips. Cora's hands are cut and bleeding from gripping the glass but she doesn't seem to notice.

Avery sticks her tongue out a little to help her concentrate and saws through her sister's bindings.

When the rope falls free and Cora's arms fall down by her sides, she cries out. A high noise all in her throat like a wounded animal.

Cora's wrists are rubbed even deeper, more raw than Avie's. Her sister doesn't waste any time, already stepping off the chair. She sits on the floor in front of Avery and makes quick work of the rope around her ankles.

Cora pulls Avie into her arms for a quick hug. "Are you okay?"

Avie can only nod. Muted and in awe of this superhuman version of her sister.

Cora hurries over to the door in the floor. She scrabbles at the edge of it, tries to get a hold. "Shit. He's locked it."

Normally, Avie would tell Cory off for her language. But it doesn't matter any more. Cora sits next to the door, begins to smash her foot against it. It's creaking, creaking and then suddenly gone.

Just an empty space.

Cora lies down next to the hole, grips the edge and lowers her head down to look. "Okay. Avie. I'm going to jump first and then catch you."

"No! Cory no, you can't jump."

Cora turns her head to look at her. "It's only about eight feet, I'll be fine. We don't have any other options."

Cora swallows, looks at the ground one more time and then sits with her legs dangling over the edge. She turns around, her elbows locked and her legs dangling in free space.

Then she begins to lower her arms until she's holding on by her fingers.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and drops to the floor.

Avie hears the low moan from inside the attic, hurries to look down at her sister.

Cora struggles to her feet, her left leg buckling when she tries to put weight on it. "I'm fine. Avie, do what I did."

Avie copies her sister's movements. Dangles from the edge by her fingertips. Only her legs aren't hanging free. Cora wraps her arms around them and Avie lets go, sliding down into her sister's arms.

Cora lowers her to the floor gently. Avery's scared. Her sister must have really hurt herself.

Cora limps over to the stairs, stands at the top for a moment just looking down them. Makes her way slowly down. Avery follows her sister, praying there's a plan.

Every step is a whining exhale, Cora's only acquiescence to the pain in her leg.

The front door is at the bottom of the stairs. It's locked, but Cora doesn't let that faze her. She makes her slow way through to a room at the front of the house. A study. Picks up a paperweight that was lying on the desk and throws it through the window.

Uses a shoe to smash the rest of the glass from the frame. She places her blazer down on the bottom of the window and turns to Avery.

She picks her up, hobbles back over to the window and lowers Avery out of it. The ground is cold; her bare feet curl on impact, trying to get away.

She moves out of the way so Cora can climb out. Avery shivers. It's really early, judging by the pink light just beginning to crawl over the horizon.

The kindergarteners only have cardigans, no blazer, so Cory shakes the glass from hers and helps Avie put it on.

Cora looks too pale; Avie knows that her left leg must be hurting a lot more than she's letting on.

Cora sucks in a breath, lets it out and Avie almost giggles at the dragon breath dancing in the air.

But giggling would hurt too much.

"Shit. I have no idea where we are. Shit." Cora takes Avie's hand, holds it too tightly and walks down the path of the man who had held them.

Avie's cuts hurt. Her head hurts; it's already too bright outside after that dingy attic. She's hungry. They were held for about three days, she thinks, and she hasn't eaten anything in that time. Their captor gave them water. She remembers learning about that at school, how your body can survive for a long time without food, but for very little time without water.

She wants to go home. She wants her Mommy and her Daddy. But especially her Mommy.

"Cory I want Mommy."

Cora stops on the sidewalk, sinks to her knees and clings to Avery's upper arms. "I know. I know. Me too, Avie, me too."

They carry on walking. Cory looks at every street sign, stopping to think, but she never says that she recognises the names.

Then suddenly they're on a main road and getting odd looks because they're not wearing shoes and Cora's feet are still bleeding. Some blood falling from the gash in her thigh too, pooling in the back of her knee.

"Cory I know this road. Mommy's work is on this road."

Cora blinks, she seems dazed. "Oh God, you're right. Look, it's there."

And then they're running because Mommy is there and oh she wants her Mommy.

Their mother doesn't look up when the elevator doors open, but Uncle Javi does and he yells Mommy's name across the precinct. Avie can't remember him ever calling her Kate before.

Mommy's eyes follow his gaze and then she sees them and she's running, tripping over herself in her haste to get to them and then she's crushing them both into her arms and she smells like home and safe and Avie's suddenly crying.

So is Mommy and so is Cory, everyone crying over each other and Mommy can't seem to decide which of them to stare at so she settles for neither and pulls them into her arms again.

**XXXXX**

Her Mom is clinging to Cora so tightly and her sister doesn't even seem to mind. Mommy's whispering something to Cory and Avie has no idea what it is but then Mommy's crying and then Cory is too and then they're rocking each other back and forth and Avie hears 'I'm sorry' from one of them or both and then stops listening because the elevator is opening and-

Daddy.

She runs to him, barrels into him and he lifts her into his arms, squeezing her and taking great gulping breaths against her neck.

"Oh Avie, oh baby. Oh my baby." Her daddy is crying so she wipes his tears away. He drops her down onto the floor, scans her with his eyes.

His gaze stops on her stomach and she looks down. It's hot at Mommy's work so she took her cardigan off and now she's just in her white school shirt. And there's a stain seeping through.

Her father falls to his knees in front of her, pushing up her shirt to look. "Avie? Avie, did he hurt you?"

She nods and her father gags, clenches his fists. "Kate." His voice hoarse.

Her Mommy is too wrapped up in Cory to hear. "Beckett!" her father yells and wow, Mommy's cop name.

Mommy takes one look at Daddy's face and runs over to them, dragging Cory with her. "Avery. Oh God." Tears are running down Mommy's cheeks but she doesn't seem to know so Avery decides not to tell her.

Very quietly "he had a knife Mommy." And then her mother is sobbing. Turning to Cora and demanding "where else?"

Cora stumbles, the words don't seem to sit right on her tongue. "Just that one on Avie, and her wrists from the rope."

Mommy has a hand on Cora's cheek. "What about you?"

Cory swallows; Avery watches her throat, transfixed. "I think I have some bruising on my spine. And I'm pretty sure I've torn a ligament in my shoulder. I have cuts on my feet, my calves, my upper arms, my hands. They're not deep. Just scratches really."

Mommy looks like she wants to cling to Cory but is too afraid to touch her. "Why didn't you tell me when you got here? Cory, why didn't you tell me?"

Cora swallows. "I wanted you to just be happy that we're okay before I told you we're not so okay."

Daddy is herding them all into the elevator, picking Avery up and holding her against him. She buries her head in his neck and refuses to listen to Mommy and Cora.

Doesn't open her eyes again until they're at the hospital.

**XXXXX**

She doesn't need stitches, the nice nurse said. Daddy was sure that she did but the nurse promised him she didn't.

Daddy and Mommy had just looked at each other when two different nurses had taken her and Cory into separate rooms. Daddy had nodded towards Cora's room and looked at Mommy funny. Then he'd followed Avie into this room.

She has a special bandage on her stomach that the nurse says can absolutely not get wet. Daddy had grinned and said 'no baths for you then munchkin' and Avie had giggled and forgotten the sting of the stuff the nurse had used to clean her ouch.

Now the nurse is wiping her wrists with the same stuff and she shrieks because it stings and Daddy lifts her onto his lap and holds her close, hushing in her ear.

She doesn't wriggle away, lets the nurse finish bandaging her. She doesn't let a single tear fall, but when the nurse leaves the room she twists and buries her face against her father's chest.

"I know. I'm so proud of you, my brave girl." Daddy whispers and Daddy is proud of her and she shines with it.

"Shall we go find Mommy and Cory?" Avie nods against him and he seems to understand without her asking. He carries her through to the room next door where Cora is having her feet sewn back together.

Daddy asks Mommy what's happening. "She has a fracture in her left heel from jumping out of the attic. Bruising on her right side from when the chair she was tied to fell over."

Avie smiles, sort of. "When she was trying to protect me." The nurse, Mommy and Daddy all stop and stare at Cora for a while. She shrugs and they take it as a cue to carry on.

"She has some tissue damage in her shoulders; a lot of lacerations."

Cory swallows and shuts her eyes. The nurse says something about going to get the stuff ready for a cast for her foot. Mommy and Daddy sink onto chairs next to the bed Cory's in and Avie settles herself in Daddy's lap.

"Cory, what about your leg?" Cora scowls, trying to hide, but Mommy's attention is focused on her.

"Cory, honey, what's wrong with your leg?"

"He used the knife on my thigh, Mom. It's not deep or anything."

The nurse comes back in and Mommy tells her to check Cora's leg. The nurse pushes Cory's skirt up and gingerly touches the slice. "It's not deep enough to need stitches, I'll bandage it."

Avie rests her head against Daddy's shoulder and just listens to the noises involved with bandaging Cory's thigh, with putting the cast on her foot.

They're finally done. They can go home. Her eyes are slipping shut. Daddy has her and Mommy is behind them, her arm around Cory.

Avery allows herself to fall asleep, trusting that she'll wake up at home.

It's over.

* * *

><p><em>I think there's only going to be one more chapter of this, two at a push. It's up to you. <em>

_A little bit of a ramble now. As is, I hope, explained to some extent in the introduction of the first chapter, this story is not about a kidnapping. It's about family and friendship and love and the different ties that bind us. That's why they're out so quickly. _


	5. Rick

We are all bound to one another, through love, through blood, through tough experiences. How far can we push those boundaries?

Castle is not mine; I just fell in love with the characters. I trust in Andrew Marlowe and all the other brilliant writers.

* * *

><p>"No one outside of this immediate family ever needs to know about this."<p>

**- Kate Beckett (_Knockout_)**

**Rick**

His heart is in his throat. Kate's in their bed, Avery curled against her right side, her little hand fisted in her mother's shirt. Allie is on Avery's other side.

She came home when Rick told her what happened. He still thinks of it as her coming home even though she's thirty three years old, married.

All of that was expected.

But Cora's on Kate's left side, her ankle crossed over her mother's. The cast on her foot makes it look uncomfortable but she looks so serenely peaceful he can only assume it mustn't be too painful.

Kate's left arm is wrapped around Cora's waist. All four of them are asleep. His girls home and safe and together and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

He sinks into the chair in the corner of the bedroom. He doesn't want to blink, doesn't want to miss a second of any of it. He can still feel the cocktail of adrenaline and relief coursing through his veins. He knows he won't get any sleep tonight and that's okay. He's content to just sit here and watch.

They still have to catch the guy, but he doesn't think he can be involved with that. He can't sit across the table from whoever did this to his babies and not smash the life from him.

He doesn't think Kate should be involved either, has seen her in protective mother mode once before. Some slime ball tried to knife her during the early months of her pregnancy with Cora, and he'd watched in awe as the guy had almost lost his arm to his own knife.

He won't suggest that, though. Knows she needs the closure. Has seen before how not having closure breaks her.

Of course, this is different. No one is dead, he has proof of that before him, although he doesn't quite believe it yet, can't trust it enough to close his eyes but it is there. Maybe he's being ridiculous. Maybe not. It's too early to tell.

He doesn't think Avery needs therapy. She seems fine. And perhaps symptoms will show themselves later, perhaps she will be clingy and nervous and untrusting. But he doesn't think so. Because Cora took care of her.

His eyes travel to her, to his middle daughter, and lock with hers, open and looking at him. She begins, very slowly, to untangle herself from her mother. He moves to the side of the bed, helps her down and substitutes himself for a crutch, supporting her through to the living area.

He fixes her a hot chocolate, allows her to sit silent and unmoving on the couch, seeing nothing and everything all at once. Carries the drink to her and presses it into her hands.

"Cory?" She's not going to look at him. "Thank you. Avery's fine because of you, you kept her sane, and I can never thank you enough for that."

Now she looks, shock and hurt and fear. "Dad, you don't have to thank me for that. She's my sister. It's not even a question."

He moves closer to his daughter, hesitant to touch her. She wasn't raped, thank God, but regardless he knows that victims of this sort of thing are often very wary of physical contact, especially with men. She allows him to squeeze her knee, though.

He swallows the sickness in his throat, the raw ache where he needs to make her better. "Cora, do you want to talk about it?"

She shakes her head, wavy hair so like her mother in her eyes. "I. I think I want to talk to Mom. You haven't done anything wrong, Dad. I just. Being there made me realise how stupid I was being. I have to fix it." her voice drops to an even lower whisper and it's laced with insecurity. "Do you think I can fix it?"

"Cora Johanna Castle, your mother loves you more than her own life. I know sometimes she maybe doesn't show it so well, but she does. And she needs you. I think you can fix it, yes. And I know your mother is so very willing to try."

She leans back against the couch and against his side. "How do I even start, Daddy?"

He doesn't know. Think, Rick. Plan out the story. "I'll take Avie out for the day tomorrow. Spend the day with your mom. Talk to her. Or don't. Sit on the couch and watch Temptation Lane. Eat a ton of ice cream. Braid each other's hair and paint nails. Just be with her, Cory. And show her that you want to be, that you're not pitying her."

His daughter nods against his side, he feels her yawn. "Bed, sweetie?"

She shrugs. "Can I stay in the big bed?"

He scoops her into his arms, she's not even heavy and he reminds himself to feed her up. He doesn't verbally answer her question, but he tucks her in next to her mother and kisses her forehead.

In his study, he opens his laptop and he writes it out until sunrise.

* * *

><p>He knows he has to act normal, act as if nothing happened. He knows that, but he's shaking as he makes breakfast. Eggs and bacon and toast. He can do this. He can do this one thing for his family, he will not fail them in this most simple of tasks.<p>

Avery is the first to appear from his bedroom, she's always been an early riser. She's rubbing her eyes, but she doesn't seem apprehensive. He lifts her onto a bar stool, hands her a plate and fills it with food.

He holds his breath until she takes the fork he gives her and starts eating. He's mentally checking off a list of evidence of psychological trauma. She has an appetite. She allowed his hand to brush hers when he passed her the cutlery. What's next?

Oh. He needs her to speak. He loves her voice, high pitched and squeaky and always so excited. He feels his knees start to give at the thought of her being mute.

He has to hold it together. "Did you sleep well, sweet pea?"

She swallows a mouthful of eggs. "Yeah. Daddy, Cora stayed in the big bed with me and Mommy and Allie."

Oh, thank God. He moves to sit next to her, wholly sure he cannot hold himself up any longer. "I know. I know she did baby."

Avery, his perceptive, beautiful little girl, gives him a beaming smile. "Are Cora and Mommy going to be friends, Daddy?"

He can't lie to her. "It's going to take some time, but I hope so, baby."

She grins and goes back to her food, entirely happy with hope. "Hey Avie? I was thinking that maybe me and you could give Cory and Mommy some space today. We can go to the park, the zoo, go shopping. Whatever you want to do."

He holds his breath, knowing Avie might want to spend the day with her mother but praying she can see his reasoning.

"That sounds nice, Daddy."

He can't help but kiss the end of her nose, making the growling noises that always reduce her to hysterics. This has been their game since she was tiny, he pretends to eat her up and she shrieks and pretends she hates it, then begs him to do it again.

She doesn't disappoint, screaming with laughter and almost falling off her stool. He settles her, runs his fingers through her hair, and takes her plate.

He puts it in the sink, turns on the tap to run hot water over the dish. "How about you go and get dressed and I'll go and check that the plan is okay with Mommy?"

She nods, jumps down from the stool and runs off up the stairs. He smiles to himself. She's fine. She's absolutely fine. Thank God.

In his bedroom, Allie and Cora are both still sleeping. Kate sits against the headboard, one hand on each of her daughters, resting against Cora's head and Allie's shoulder.

Because Allie is Kate's daughter. Although Kate moved in only a month before Alexis moved out, the two have always been close. Through college and all the trials and heartache that come with it, it was Kate, not Meredith, who stayed up until 2am on the phone with Alexis. It was Kate, not Meredith, who flew out to take care of her when her heart was broken by some jerk.

It's always been Kate for him, and he's so glad they're close, his first love and his true love.

It takes her a while to notice him, but when she does her whole face lights up, her smile beaming at him. He beckons for her to join him, and she slowly disentangles herself from the bed and their girls, moves to his side.

He takes her hand, tugs her into the adjoining study, making sure to shut the door. Sits in his chair and pulls her down to sit on his lap, arms around her waist. He kisses her, slow and passionate and he still can't get over how good she tastes, how right she is against him.

He pulls away and she rests her head on his shoulder. "Katie, Cora and I were talking last night. She wants to fix things with you."

Kate shudders against him and he realises too late she is crying. He doesn't look at her, knows she hates to have people watch her break. He just holds her even more tightly. Gives her time to put herself back together, but makes it clear he will help her.

"She does?" her voice is raw and cracking and broken.

He kisses her hair, her ear. "Yes. I'm going to take Avery out today, recapture her youth. I told Cora to talk to you, to be with you."

She tilts her head backwards, angles herself to kiss his jaw where he hasn't shaved in a while. "Thank you."

He doesn't respond with words, kisses her hair again.

"Rick, help me. How do I show her I love her?"

He squeezes around her ribs, knows she likes the pressure, it keeps her grounded. "Just love her, do everything you want to, and don't be put off if she tries to fight you. You have to love her even when she's trying not to let you."

She stiffens in his arms. "I do. I do love her. God, I love her so much."

He shushes her, whispers in her ear. "I know. I know. I'm sorry."

She climbs off his lap and he shudders a little, already missing her warmth. "Katie, there's breakfast in the kitchen."

She looks at him over her shoulder. "Okay, I'll wake the girls, we'll eat, I promise."

He hates that she needs to reassure him of this, but loves that she does. She doesn't eat enough; he doesn't like the hollow places, the shadows beneath her bones. Too many times, she's reached the point of exhaustion.

They had a lot of fights about it in the early stages of their relationship, before he finally snapped and told her he wasn't going to sit back and watch her starve. His tone had been so harsh that she'd visibly paled and acquiesced to his request to just please let him take care of her.

He finally summons the strength to stand, makes his way upstairs to check on Avery. She's in her room, dressed in jeans and a white and pink striped shirt. On the floor, she has all her dolls spread out, and she's playing some sort of game that involves parading them past one another.

He coughs and she looks up at him, grinning. "Hi baby. Good job getting dressed. Did you decide what you want to do?"

She smiles, stands up and moves over to him. Lifts her hands above her head in the signal he's come to know as a request to be carried. He lifts her easily, cradles her close to him.

She presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek before she whispers into his ear. "I want to go to the park and then I want to do shopping and get a present for Mommy and Cora."

He can't speak for a moment, humbled by his daughter's compassion and generosity. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, honey."

He carries her downstairs, heart soaring at the sight of his wife and his daughters eating breakfast around the kitchen island and actually laughing. Laughing.

He puts Avie down, tells her to go grab shoes and a jacket and then moves over to kiss both his daughters on the cheek, wish them good morning. Allie stands as he moves away from her. "I'd better go home, Connor will be missing me."

Her husband. A good man, solid and supportive and loving. He took his time getting over it, needed Kate to reassure him that he wasn't old, and now all that remains is happiness for his daughter.

Alexis slips into her shoes, pulls her jacket on. "Call me if you need me, any of you." and then she's gone and it's somehow at once flatter and more normal. Allie fits here, will always belong, but she's usually _not_ here, and so her absence is, in some ways, soothing. She's here on holidays or when something's wrong.

Avie tugs on his hand. "Daddy, shall we go?"

He bends down to her level, fixes the buttons on her coat. "Sure, baby. Let me just talk to Mommy for a second, get my shoes on. Why don't you go and say good morning to your sister?"

Avery nods, goes to stand next to Cora's stool. Cory slips of it, kneels in front of Avery and pulls her into her arms.

He can't imagine the nightmares Cora must have had. But he doesn't need to. The pain and fear and relief and love on her face tell him more than words ever could.

She's whispering into Avery's ear and he has no idea what she's saying but it doesn't matter. He'll allow this to remain a mystery.

He snakes his arms around Kate's waist. Finds her ear. "We're gonna go now. I'll have my phone; I'll make sure it's on. And I'll take good care of her."

She turns in the circle of his arms, kisses him. "I know. I trust you, Rick. And I'll try, I promise."

He doesn't need to ask what she means. Can see it in her eyes. Steely determination. He lets go of her, takes Avery's hand and kisses Cora on the cheek.

On his way out of the door he looks at them over his shoulder. "Have fun, you two. See you later."

And then he shuts the door and he tries his best to relax, knowing Avery can sense his tension.

She asks him to carry her. He knows that perhaps he shouldn't, that it's a sign that she has been affected by her ordeal. But he doesn't mind. It's only been a day. He can wait, see if she can get through it by herself.

They reach the park, the same one where Kate first promised him she wanted to be with him one day. Almost seventeen years ago. Wow. That makes him feel old. And then his five year old tugs on his hand, asks him to please push her on the swing, and youth surges through him.

She's very slow to let go of his hand, but she does. Once she becomes tired of the swings, she runs off to play with some other children. He snaps a picture of her hanging upside down from the monkey bars, sends it to Kate with a message.

_See, she's fine. Are you?_

Kate sends him a picture of two enormous bowls of ice cream and a stack of Temptation Lane box sets.

_We're good. Love you._

He replies, _love you too_, and then runs over to tickle Avery. Catches her as she falls from the monkey bars and brings her in for a hug. He sets her down on the ground and cannot help but smile as she takes his hand and starts to tug him.

She looks up at him, the sun on her face. "Daddy, can we do shopping now?"

He nods, grins, and allows her to lead the way. "What kind of present do you want to get them, baby?"

She shrugs. "A book for Cory. What does Mommy like?"

Mommy likes all her family together and safe and happy, but Avie can't really give her that as a gift. "Maybe some jewellery, baby?"

Avie smiles at that, happy enough with his suggestion. She tugs him into a bookstore, finds a first edition of Hamlet hiding on the shelf. It has a dedication written on the title page, which he knows Cory loves. She likes the story that can be contained in just a few lines.

_For Hannah, to apologise. I love you darling. Yours, Henry._

Finding a gift for Kate is more difficult. They try a lot of stores before they find the right gift, according to Avie's standards. Pearl earrings. Sometimes, he and Kate go out to dinner, and he knows his wife likes to look elegant and presentable. She always does in his eyes, but he assures his daughter that the earrings are fit for a queen.

Once they've paid, he turns to his little girl. "Do you want to do anything else?"

She shakes her head. "Can we go home, Daddy? I want to see Mommy and Cory."

She's suddenly vulnerable. "Of course honey." He finds a cab easily, heart simultaneously singing and breaking as Avery buries herself against his side.

He opens the door to the loft quietly, Avery silent beside him. Kate is asleep on the sofa, Temptation Lane still playing and Cora curled into her arms. Cora's head rests on Kate's shoulder, their chests rising and falling in time.

Avery yawns and he carries her over to the sofa, settles her in between her mother and sister, careful not to wake them.

She falls asleep quickly, and he settles himself into an armchair, rests his head against the back of it and falls into sleep himself.

* * *

><p><em>Thank you for your support, it means a lot to me. Especially you, Em.<em>


	6. Alexis

We are all bound to one another, through love, through blood, through tough experiences. How far can we push those boundaries?

Castle is not mine; I just fell in love with the characters. I trust in Andrew Marlowe and all the other brilliant writers.

* * *

><p>"You'll never get rid of me, I love you."<p>

**- Richard Castle (_Anatomy of a Murder_)**

**Alexis**

She slips into the loft as quietly as she can. Slides out of her shoes and moves through to the living area. She stops, one hand on her mouth. Kate is asleep on the sofa with both of her sisters cuddled against her. Her father is sleeping in the arm chair. They all look so peaceful that she wants to cry with the relief of it.

She knows that when they wake up, Cora will have to show Kevin and Javier where the house is. She knows that there may be an arrest tonight. That's why she's here, to support them.

She'd gone home, but Connor had persuaded her that her family needs her more than he does right now. He's going to come over later, make dinner for everyone. Her heart had swelled at his words. She still wonders, sometimes, what she did to deserve such a wonderful man.

She doesn't have the heart to wake them. Her family. Her father hadn't even told her that her sisters were missing until they were back. He hadn't wanted to worry her. So she didn't see the full force of his grief. But she can still see it lingering in his eyes, and Kate's. Can see how it broke them. She was glad, in a way, that her father hadn't seen fit to tell her, glad that she didn't have to witness him, them, falling apart.

A noise from the couch pulls her from her rumination. Avery is awake, and struggling to free herself. Alexis strides over and lifts her easily from the couch, holding her close against her body.

Avery rests her head on Alexis' shoulder, the last vestiges of sleep still clinging to her. "Hi, Avie. How are you?"

She yawns, stretches in Alexis' arms. "Hi Allie. I'm okay." The nickname still brings a smile to her face. It was originally invented by her father when Cora was very young and couldn't pronounce her name. He'd taken to calling her Allie and it had stuck. Of course, she'd been twenty then. Now she was thirty three, it was perhaps a little childish, but she didn't mind.

She kisses her sister's hair. Avery doesn't actually seem too traumatised by her ordeal. "Good, I'm glad you're okay. Listen, I'm going to wake up Mommy and Daddy and Cory, alright?"

Avery nods. "Can I do colouring?"

Allie smiles, carries her sister over to the dining room table and settles her into a chair. She finds paper and colouring pencils in her father's office, hands them to her sister.

Avie always starts by printing her name at the top of her page. Her parents have always encouraged her to write, and it's quite sweet to see her so eager to take credit for her drawings. Allie watches her carefully print her name in purple crayon at the top of the paper.

_Avery Royce Castle_

Allie had been confused by her sister's middle name, a little. Royce was Kate's training officer, she knew. She also knew that Kate had been in love with him, information divulged during a late night conversation about broken hearts and how to heal them.

She'd asked her father why he didn't mind his daughter being named for a man his wife had loved before him. He'd explained that Royce had been Kate's friend, and he was happy to remember him that way. He'd also explained that the first part of the name, Roy, was in honour of their fallen captain.

Alexis had accepted that explanation, not wanting to think about Roy Montgomery, how broken her father and Kate had been by his death and the consequent shooting. She still dreamed about it sometimes, after particularly trying days at work. She dreamed of the look on her father's face, the terror in his eyes.

Of course, that was sixteen years ago now. Allie knows that Kate sometimes dreams of it too, but she's long past allowing the shooting to hold her back.

Satisfied that Avery is okay, Alexis moves to crouch next to the armchair. She shakes her father's arm gently. "Dad, wake up." He sits up, eyes frantically searching the loft until he sees that Kate and the girls are alright. Then he focuses on Alexis.

"Pumpkin, what are you doing back here?"

She smiles at him. "Connor told me to come back. He said I should be here to support you guys through everything that has to happen."

Her father sighs, head falling back against the chair. "Oh God, Alexis. We have to take them down to the precinct to give statements. They have to go back to the house. Oh, God."

She takes her father's hand, squeezes it. "No, Dad. I spoke to Javi and he said that Cory can try and point out the house on Google Maps. He said they won't have to go back."

Her father lifts his head, smiles at her. He climbs from the chair, one hand on his back. It breaks her heart a little. He's old, now. In his fifties. He's trying to give Cora and Avery the childhood she had, full of adventure, but sometimes his age shows. Kate and the girls keep him young, and she's grateful, but it does hurt to see him aging, hurting.

He catches her watching him and forces himself up straight. "I'm good, Allie." She nods. She can't start encouraging him to take it slow now, not with everything else that has to happen today.

He kneels next to the couch, kisses Cora on the cheek and she wakes instantly. She's never been a heavy sleeper, she's already sitting up. Then she whispers into her mother's ear, shakes her shoulder a little. Kate blinks, her eyes unfocused but open. She sees Cora and she smiles, struggles to sit up and pulls her daughter against her side. She kisses Cora's hair and then seems to notice her husband and Allie.

"Hi guys. Allie, you're back?"

Alexis swallows hard. Here's where she has to break everything. But it's important that she does, to make sure they heal properly. "Yeah. Connor told me I should go with you guys to the station, moral support you know?"

Kate's hand flies to her mouth, eyes wide. "Oh God. Rick, the station. We forgot."

Her father takes Kate's hand, squeezes it tightly. "I called Kev. He said we can come in this afternoon."

Kate nods and stands, pulling Cora up with her. She turns to her, a hand on each of the girl's shoulders. "Do you think you can do this, honey?"

Cora chews on her lip for a moment, then nods. "I just want to get it over with, Mom."

Kate kisses her cheek. Cora's still a little stiff, but she allows the action and Alexis wants to cry. Of course, she'd never wish what happened on her sisters, but she's sort of grateful it's helping to heal the strained relationship between Kate and Cora.

Suddenly, Avie's tugging on her hand. "Where are we going?"

Alexis smiles, lifts her sister up again. She catches fierce anxiety on her father's face and raises an eyebrow at him over the top of Avery's head. He shakes his head at her and she focuses her gaze on her sister. "We have to go to Mommy's work. You have to talk to some people about what happened so they can catch the bad man that did it to you. Do you think you can do that?"

Avery looks around at everyone. "Will all my family be there?" Everyone nods, and so Avie does too. "I can do it."

The time flies far too quickly. Alexis is nauseated by the elevator ride, and she's a grown woman who isn't about to give a statement about her kidnapping. Avie's clinging to her father's hand and rocking back and forth slightly. Cora's bottom lip is bleeding; she's been biting on it so hard.

Ryan and Esposito are waiting for them. Her father disappears to make drinks for everyone while the boys explain what's about to happen. They'll be with two separate detectives from kidnapping. Alexis sees Kate flinch, knows it's going to take a lot for her to trust the detectives with her daughters.

Avie's allowed to have someone with her but Cora isn't. Her gaze flies to Kate, and Kate squeezes her hand. "I'll watch from behind the mirror. If you need me, you just yell and I'll be right there, okay?"

Cora nods. She's very pale, Alexis is momentarily worried that she's going to collapse before she remembers that this is Cora and nothing breaks her. The two detectives from kidnapping step off the elevator and Cora's hands start to tremble. She clenches them into fists, unwilling to let her body betray her.

One of the detectives, a young woman with chestnut hair and a kind smile, approaches Cora. "Hi. You must be Cora Castle, right? I'm Detective Donnell. Are you feeling able to take part in the interview?"

Cora nods and Alexis knows she doesn't trust herself to speak yet. Kate nudges her daughter forwards. Cora stands on shaking legs, forces one foot in front of the other and follows the detective into the interrogation room. They're using homicide's room. Alexis isn't sure why, perhaps Kate pulled strings so this could take place on home turf.

She should ask, but she can't get past the solid mass of her tongue.

The other detective, a man about her father's age, is leading Avery and Rick into Interrogation 2. Alexis cups Kate's elbow, leads her to the little room off interrogation where they can watch Cora's interview.

She doesn't hear any of the questions. She can't listen to what her sisters went through, can't handle having those images in her mind. Kate, however, is coiling tighter and tighter with every word. "Alexis." Her voice is steel. "Don't let your father let me anywhere near this son of a bitch when they catch him because I will kill him without a moment's hesitation."

Alexis has seen Kate angry before. At her father, mainly. She thought she knew. But she doesn't recognise this woman in front of her. Kate's whole face has become something malicious. She never thought the detective could be ugly, but that's the closest descriptor that Alexis can think of.

She nods, uncomfortable with this new, ferocious version of the woman she's come to love as a mother. Alexis refocuses her gaze on the window, sees Detective Donnell placing a laptop in front of her sister. She asks if Cora can show her where the house is. Cora's intensely focused on the screen but Alexis can see the doubt starting to seep in. Cora's tears are very quiet. She's staring at the screen, tears rolling silently down her face. She sits quietly for two full minutes and then her eyes flick up to what is just a mirror for her, red rimmed and broken.

And then Kate's gone, bursting into the interrogation room and dropping to her knees in front of her daughter. She takes Cora's hands and squeezes them. "Shh, honey. It's okay. You're doing great, sweetie. It's alright if you can't work it out straight away. I promise. Let's take a break, go get you something to drink, alright?"

Cora nods and stands up. Kate does too, and wraps her arms around her daughter, trying her best to soothe her. She leads her into the break room. Alexis stays. Watches the detective rest her head in her hands. Kate knows that it's tough, being a detective. Having to watch people fall apart and sometimes, break them further. The woman's easy smile is long gone, replaced with a deep crease between her eyes.

Her father is with Avery while she gives her statement. He's not allowed to speak, but he's allowed to be there, hold her, support her through it. She wishes Cory could have that. It's a lot to expect, for her to be able to relive her ordeal so soon after it happened. It's an even bigger expectation to ask her to do so with no one to lean on.

Alexis sighs, pulls her phone from her pocket and sends a quick text to her husband, telling him she has no idea when they'll be done. He tells her he loves her. It still makes her smile.

Kate's demanding that she be allowed to stay with Cora for the remainder of the interrogation. "Look, I know the rules, what I can and can't do. She needs me, alright." Alexis watches through the glass as Detective Donnell cowers under Kate's glare and nods.

Kate settles into the empty chair next to Cora's, rests her hand on the girl's knee. Cora takes a deep breath and studies the screen again. It takes her less than a minute to find the house.

The detective pulls the address from Google Maps, as well as a picture of the street view of the house.

Alexis moves to the break room, makes four coffees and a hot chocolate and waits. She can see the action from the window of the break room. Detective Donnell leaves the room swiftly, slips into the room next door to pull her colleague from the interrogation. Apparently it was long finished; Alexis' father had been conversing with the detective about the merits of the new electronic whiteboard software.

As the two detectives leave, her father and Avery and then her mother, because Kate is nothing but a mother right now, and Cora join her in the break room.

She hands drinks out to everyone, hoists Avery onto her hip because the sweet little girl, the girl she often thinks of as sunshine personified, looks broken. Her father comes around to stand next to her, kisses Avie's cheek. "You did so good, baby. I'm so proud of you."

Kate wraps her arms around Cora, rocks her slightly. The two of them are in their own little world, her father watching from the outside with love shining from every atom of his being.

Detective Esposito pokes his head in the door. "Hey. You guys are good to go home now; I'll call you when we have him."

She's so very grateful he said when. Not if. Not ever an 'if', because they will catch the bastard and he will pay.

Her father nods and takes Avery from her arms. She stands in the middle of the room, suddenly feeling lost. And then Kate and Cora have one of her hands each and Kate is whispering in her ear. "Thank you, Allie. For holding us together through today."

She nods. Can't speak, again. She texts Connor to tell him they're on their way back to the loft and he says he'll meet them there, with ingredients for dinner. She wants to cry, she's so humbled with gratitude for his love.

* * *

><p>They got him. In the middle of dinner they got the call, Kate took it. She cried in the kitchen, wrapped in Rick's arms. Then Allie had cried, and Cora too, and Avery had gotten a little sniffly in her confusion. Connor took her upstairs to bed, told her that everyone was happy because the man that had hurt her had been caught.<p>

Alexis had felt something burning low in her stomach, need and longing, seeing him with Avie. He's going to be an incredible father. Allie wants kids, she does. The only thing that stops her is the thought of everything that can go wrong. How that would break her.

That night, lying in Connor's arms, she allows him to persuade her. It doesn't take much. She sees the happiness her father and Kate have. She wants that, she wants it so badly. She doesn't sleep well, plagued by nightmares where she herself is kidnapped, nightmares where the story doesn't end so well.

* * *

><p><em>A little piece of our conversation snuck into the end there, Elle. Hope that's okay. Please let me know what you think, and thank you for your kind reviews. <em>


	7. Cora II

We are all bound to one another, through love, through blood, through tough experiences. How far can we push those boundaries?

The show is not mine; but Cora Johanna and Avery Royce Castle are.

* * *

><p>"You don't give up, you don't back down."<p>

**- Richard Castle (_A Death in the Family_)**

**Cora**

Her thigh itches.

The skin there is knitting together, clinging in desperation, trying to salvage itself. She can't help but think of it that way. It's been a week. The laceration, and oh, how she loves that word. To roll it around her mouth. She thinks it explains the psychological damage too and she's so grateful. The laceration is a slowly flaking scab now.

She will allow herself to think of the itching because thinking of the itching is not thinking of his face or Avery's face or her own face in the mirror, sallow and drowning.

She forced herself to hold it together throughout the day after. Forced herself to be strong and stable and steady and why do all the words she forced herself to live up to begin with _s_? She had to stay strong to help them catch him.

She knows his name now. Bradley Murphy. He goes by Brad but she will not call him that, not even to spit the name at his feet. She knows that he grew up in foster care with his brother Ian as his only source of stability. She knows he has attachment issues. She knows that her mother arrested Ian for the murder he committed. She knows that Bradley Murphy wants to go to jail to be with his brother.

She knows all that, but it doesn't make the aftertaste that still lingers any less bitter. People try to justify it, tell her he has psychological issues. Well now, so does she and it's his fault.

She doesn't want to see a shrink. Her mother thinks she should. They spent almost three hours talking about it. About how seeing a psychologist helped her mother to overcome first the murder of her own mother, then PTSD and her issues with opening up emotionally.

She listened. She did. She feels like she's regressed back to being five years old, only she's a normal five year old and she wants to cling to her mother. She's been there for her. Cora's not stupid; she knows her father spoke to her mother, told her to love Cora regardless.

It sort of feels like a switch has been flicked and she's at once more normal and falling apart at the seams. She didn't know it was possible to be fixed and yet so broken, didn't know that the two could coexist in a harmony that is not at all harmonious, just happening. How could she have known?

She doesn't know how to feel. She's not afraid; she knows the likelihood of her being kidnapped again is slim. She's back at school and it feels good and it helps her. She doesn't struggle to pay attention, quite the opposite. She immerses herself in work. And that's it. That's the real issue. She doesn't think about it, refuses to let herself. And one day it's going to come tearing out of her consciousness and she's going to slip. One day, she's going to find a man who loves her and she's not going to be able to let him in because of this.

Alexis has told her what happens when people have internal walls. Told her how close she came to not existing at all.

She's cold. It was cold in the attic. She dreams of it and then she is wrenched violently from sleep and her teeth ache from gritting them to stop the chattering and her bones are shards of ice trembling inside themselves.

This is the sixth night in a row and she doesn't think she can do a seventh day of hiding it. She slides out of her bed, toes curling. It's carpet and still too much and how is she going to handle the wood flooring downstairs. She scrambles in her drawer for socks, fist closing around a pair. She tugs them on and then she pulls the throw from her bed and wraps it around her shoulders.

Down the stairs, trying not to slip and then she's in her parent's room. Cora brushes her hand over her mother's cheek. She opens her eyes, already alert. Sits up and sees it's Cora and then she's climbing out of bed, one arm around Cora's shoulders to steer her to the living room.

Her mother pushes her onto the sofa, sits next to her and wraps her arms around her. She rests her head on her mother's clavicle, the warmth of the exposed skin shooting through her and she's finally stopped shaking. She's rocking back and forth and she doesn't know if it's her own doing or her mother's and she doesn't care.

Her mother kisses her hair, whispers to her. "Did you have a nightmare, baby?"

She's almost sixteen years old and she's wise beyond her years and being called baby makes her feel so loved it terrifies her because allowing herself to be loved like this is only going to hurt her later.

"Yeah. Nothing even happened, Mom. I was just in the attic and it was so cold and then I woke up and I was freezing and I didn't know what to do." She's close to tears but she's holding them back.

Her mother is hushing her, pulling her onto her lap, holding her close. "It's okay honey. It's okay. You're safe."

Cora shudders, residual ice leaving her and making its departure known. "I didn't know dreams could make you cold, Mom. I didn't know."

Her mother takes a deep breath and she knows instinctively that a story is coming so she closes her eyes to hear it better. "One time, about two years after your father and I met, we worked a case. To cut a long story short, we ended up locked in a freezer. Your uncles saved us, but not before I'd passed out from hypothermia."

Cora buries her nose in the hollow at the base of her mother's neck, breathes her in and reminds herself that these sorts of things don't happen now her mother is captain. "Did you dream?"

Her mother lets out a quiet puff of laughter. "For months afterwards. I would wake up freezing and alone and all I would want would be your father to hold me. But we weren't together then. I don't want you to have to be alone. Any time you have a bad dream, please come and get me. Please."

She can only nod. Sometimes, momentarily, she forgets how strong her mother is. "I promise. I will."

Her mother sighs something that could be thanks or relief, it doesn't matter. "Do you want to go back to bed?"

She does. She's exhausted and she wants to sleep but she doesn't think she can. "Yeah. Will you come?"

Her mother has always been the actions to her father's words, and so it fits that she doesn't answer. She just lifts her from her lap and leads her up the stairs, one arm around her waist. She tucks her in, the way she hasn't since Cora was six. She tries to stand up, but Cora latches onto her wrist. "Mom? Get in?"

She nods and climbs under Cora's covers. She brings her knees up, creates a hollow and Cora curls into it, face buried against her mother's shoulder. There, with her mother's hands holding her across her rib cage, holding her together, she's warm.

* * *

><p>She feels, perhaps, that she's getting a little better. She doesn't want a psychologist. She wants to see if she can fight this alone. This is what strength is, then. This liquid courage igniting her veins. She won't give up. She can't. And that's how she views therapy, as admitting she's not strong enough to do this alone.<p>

She wakes early. She loves the light of the early morning, soft and flattering and peaceful. She loves the time she and Avie have. The girl likes to sit on a bar stool and natter away while Cora makes breakfast for them both.

She's on Avie's bar stool herself now, tapping her heels against the foot rest. Her hair is naturally wavy and it's falling all around her. She holds a piece between two fingertips, allowing the light to illuminate it and turn it honey gold.

She needs tea. It's an easy rhythm, pulling a cup from the hanging tree and a teabag from the little jar on the counter. She waits for the kettle, shifting her weight back and forth from foot to foot and watching it start to shake. It's a slow build and suddenly the thing is rocking in its foundations.

She pours the water, presses the bag against the side of the mug with a spoon and then lifts it free from the scalding water.

She likes to pour the milk from a height, see it splash into the tea. Watch the patterns it makes. She doesn't try to read into them or any of that crap. Doesn't think they hold any hidden meaning. She just appreciates the beauty in the small things, now more than ever.

She starts at the feeling of a tiny hand tugging on the hem of her shirt. She was lost, again. This is why she doubts herself. She can't seem to ground herself to reality, hold on to one train of thought.

"Hey, Avie. You okay?"

Her sister blinks sleep-weary eyes, yawns. Her teeth are still milky and straight and perfect, baby teeth. Cora misses losing teeth. Her father made such a huge deal out of it, reminding her to leave it under her pillow for the tooth fairy.

"Yeah. Cory, can we make breakfast in bed for Mommy and Daddy?" the idea is appealing. This is what normal families do, isn't it? They can do this, they can maintain this pretence.

"Sure. What shall we make?" Avie looks around the kitchen, taking stock of their ingredients.

She shuffles over to the cupboard, her pyjama pants too long. She opens it, sticks her head inside and resurfaces with flour on the end of her nose. "Can we make pancakes?"

Pancakes. Thank you so much for last night. She knows that's what they mean, has seen enough television. Lived enough. So yes, she will give pancakes to her mother, the woman who was gone from her bed when she woke but who was there when she fell asleep and that's what counts.

"That sounds like a great idea." She finds a couple of aprons, ties Avie's on and then her own. They look out ingredients together and then Cora moves a stool over to the counter so Avie can reach, can help.

They add all the ingredients to the bowl for the batter, and then Avie cups a handful of flour, holding it in her palms. She takes a deep breath in and then blows out, sending flour cartwheeling through the air to land all over Cora.

Avery freezes. So does Cora, for just a second. The old version of herself would scowl and get mad and yell. But she doesn't want to do that. It was funny. And so, she laughs.

Throws her head back so the sound can reach the rafters, decorate the room. And then Avie's laughing too, the two of them falling all over each other, flour everywhere. They calm down eventually and manage to make a few pancakes for each of their parents.

They pile them onto a plate, load up a tray with the food and two cups of coffee. A glass of juice for Avie, too, because Cora knows she will climb into their parent's bed and she will join them for breakfast.

Avie wants to carry the tray and of course Cora allows her. A tiny sliver of her tongue poking out between her teeth, the girl takes measured steps to their parent's room.

The two of them are both feigning sleep, Cora can tell right away. They're good; good enough to fool Avie, but the balance in the room is all wrong.

"Cora, can you yell. I can't while I'm holding the tray." She manages not to laugh at her sister's pleading whispers.

"Mom, Dad, wake up. We have breakfast." Her voice isn't that loud, but their father shoots straight up in bed, rubbing his eyes and faking a yawn. Their mother is slower to react, she sits up against the headboard almost dazedly, but her eyes are too bright for her to have just woken.

"You made us breakfast, girls? Wow, thank you!" Her father is overly grateful, pushing the boundaries of realism for Avie's benefit, and the girl laps it up.

She passes the tray to Cora and climbs in between their parents. Cora sits opposite her sister, cross legged, the tray in front of her. They eat, sharing the laughter and the love of a normal family. Cora pretends she doesn't see her mother eyeing her flaking lacerations. Avie laughs just a little too loudly at her father's just a little too forced jokes.

Afterwards, their parents do the washing up and the girls go to get dressed. It's Sunday. She sort of wants to do something with the day, not waste it. She wants them to bond, the four of them. And Allie, who fits so seamlessly. And Connor too, because Allie loves him and therefore so do the rest of them.

Her mom comes to find her. She's been doing that a lot, lately. Checking up on her. She can't walk past Cora without touching her somehow, reminding herself that she's really here. Cora wonders if, perhaps, her mother wants to go to a psychologist. She can't imagine the emotional turmoil losing your children, if only for a day, can inflict.

She won't mention it. They're closer, but not with the really important things yet. Cora doesn't doubt that they'll get there; they both want a normal relationship. It's just a matter of time, of building up trust again.

"Hey sweetpea, any plans for today?" She catches her mother's eye in the mirror as she brushes her hair, shrugs a little.

"No. Can we do something as a family?" She doesn't want a stronger relationship with her mother to come at the expense of her father. She knows she's the one that has to knit this family back together.

Her mother smiles, a beam that Cora had no idea she missed until here it is. "I think that can be arranged."

* * *

><p>They went to the park and then the movies. She managed to actually pay attention to the film. Managed to forget, just for a little while. It hurts, still. She still can't be alone in a public place. But she's getting there. She's proud of herself. She never thought she'd be able to say that but she is. It would break a lesser person. She sees the worried glances from everyone that knows. Sees them, and shakes them off. She's going to be fine, she is.<p>

There's no other option.

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><p><em>Sorry this has taken me so long. I didn't want to rush it and post something I wasn't happy with. Let me know if it was worth the wait.<em>


	8. Brad II

_We are all bound to one another, through love, through blood, through tough experiences. How far can we push those boundaries?_

_Castle is not mine; I just fell in love with the characters. I trust in Andrew Marlowe and all the other brilliant writers._

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><p><em><em>"Do you believe that people get what they deserve?"

**- Richard Castle (_Wrapped Up In Death_)**

** Brad**

They showed up at his house, just like he knew they would. He was waiting, but pretending not to. He didn't resist, thought afterwards perhaps he should have but no. he went with them easily.

He's in a holding cell. His head between his knees, taking deep breaths and focusing intently on his shoelaces. He doesn't cope all that well with changes to his environment but he has to get through this to get back to Ian. He will get through this. Every time he closes his eyes he sees his brother's face the way it was at his trial. Broken and afraid and younger than he can ever remember it being before.

He can fix that. Ian needs him too, he knows it. They need each other.

There's a rap on the bars of the holding cell and his head jerks up so fast he feels something click in his neck, something hidden in the depths of him giving up. The detective is standing there, the woman with the chestnut hair and the eyes that are hard around the edges.

Detective Donnell, he remembers. She was the rougher of the two that came to arrest him. He wouldn't have thought it; to look at she is kind and gentle. Perhaps that's why. She burns with a vicious hatred of people like him. The other detective, a man in his mid fifties, didn't seem particularly bothered. He'd left it to his female colleague to slam Brad's face into his wall, force her shoulder against his spine.

Didn't matter. Doesn't matter. Ian, Ian, Ian. Nothing else.

She barks out an instruction he can't hear, can't hear, please, he can't hear. Just ringing in his ears and the rushing white noise of panic. He wants to throw up, scream, sleep. But her hand is at his arm, pulling him to his feet.

He saw pigs lined up for slaughter once. Did they feel this molten terror in their cores? He wonders, focuses on that thought because it's easier than getting into the van they use to transport prisoners.

He confessed. He confessed, and now he's a threat to society so he's going to be held in jail. He doesn't know if it is the same jail as Ian, doesn't know. Please God, he doesn't know.

The trial will be soon because he confessed. Soon. He can handle soon, he can cling to soon and he can try not to fall apart.

His wrists are chafing, the cuffs rubbing him raw, his shoulders complaining. He smacks his head back against the side of the van in time with the beating of his heart. Momentary, blessed blackness again and again. The van stops, his head falls forward, chin tucked into the hollow at his throat. Make him small.

He's being pulled out, shuffling through security. They pat him down, even though there's no way he could have acquired anything during the transition. He needs to get in his cell he needs to get to the visiting area see if he recognises it see if Ian is here. He's tingling with heady anticipation, the roots of his hair, his fingernails thrumming.

They take him to his cell. He's not alone. The other occupant is a wiry little man with thick glasses and scraggly stubble decorating the soft, almost smudged, line of his jaw. The man nods his head at him, long hair sweeping across his forehead.

"Rodney." He mutters. That's it. He doesn't have anything else to offer and Brad has nothing to take. He can't.

He chokes, stumbles over what used to be constant. "Brad." The other man nods again and then turns back to the book. He stands, swaying in the centre of the room, waiting.

"Top bunk is mine." The other man states. He's sitting on the bottom bunk. Brad sinks to the floor, the wall at his back. Okay. Okay. He can do this. He can he can he can.

It smells like bleach and urine, acrid burning in the back of his throat he doesn't know _how_. He's trembling, knees knocking together, coccyx rattling against the wall.

Rodney's gaze burns. "Dude, quit shaking will ya. We get to go out to the exercise yard in like, ten. Christ."

He can't remember how to speak; words are foreign, too much. He's choking.

He's losing time. He blacked out, maybe, doesn't know. It seems like only seconds passed between Rodney's speech and a guard coming to take them to the exercise yard.

Outside, he stumbles to his knees, so very grateful for the air that he shudders with it. He sits in the corner, tries to be invisible. But of course, no, too easy.

He is small, weak, a trembling, terrified target. They pounce. He is a burning bundle of nerves and sinew and bones crunching beneath fists and white hot blinding agony. He tastes blood in his mouth, scratches at his teeth to check, bites down on his knuckle. They're yelling too loud too loud please _please_ no. They are telling him that people who hurt children deserve to rot in hell. Even to these men, scum of society, what he did is disgusting.

The guards pull them off; take him up to the infirmary. Rubbing alcohol on his wounds and oh, God, that hurts. A psych eval, they're saying. He's mentally unsound, they're saying.

He cannot fight them, cannot please God. He doesn't have words anymore, they are trapped behind his sternum, fluttering against the bone and never surfacing.

The resident shrink comes to see him. He can't see her. Knows she is her, knows nothing else.

They decide he needs to be watched, studied, poked, prodded. They decide he needs to be detained at a psychiatric hospital. They decide all this without him. He is behind the glass and he cannot reach them and he cannot breathe.

It doesn't truly sink in until he's back in the van, being transported again. He does not know where Ian is, but he knows he is not at the hospital.

No.

No. no, please. Please God no.

It was all for nothing.

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><p><em>Sorry this has taken so long. I've had a lot of work to do lately, and I find Brad really tough to write. Getting into the mindset of someone with his issues is a challenge. I'll try to get back on track now.<em>


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